Life with Three

This Wednesday, Vivian will be 6 weeks old.  I'm going to stereotypically tell you how it has both dragged and flown by...well, because it's true.  

Of course the first couple of weeks dragged on and on--I was sore and a hormonal basket case.  I was also getting to know the newest person in our house. But, as with the two before her, it is amazing how quickly they get bigger when you are least suspecting it.

We've slowly gotten back to our normal routine. Vivian wakes up about 2 times a night (rarely 3...which means tonight will be one of those nights...) and is usually up for the day around 7-7:30.  I no longer feel overwhelmed when I have to drive somewhere solo with more than one child.  I have also come to terms with the fact that Vivian is going to be glued to me since I am her food source. I won't lie, I forgot about this part.

Actually, having an infant this time around is surprisingly easier. Maybe it's because I know she's my last one so I'm trying to soak it all in or maybe it's because it's my third time at this rodeo, but I don't feel overwhelmed by all things baby.  She's pretty predictable right now anyway; if she's not eating she's napping or crying because she'd like to be eating or napping.  Just this week she's been awake more and interacting with us.  She started smiling (especially at the girls) (and floor lamps), which is always an awesome time in babydom.

Here is Ebeth at the park the weekend before Vivian was born:  

Julia has done a fine job of sharing Evan with Vivian.  Evan is her favoritest person, and so far Vivian hasn't demanded too much of his time (since she is ALWAYS eating off of me), so there has been no jealousy...yet.

Julia jumping in puddles with her lady bug rain boots.  That girl loves jumping in a good muddy puddle.

Vivian joins our crew.

The last time we talked, I was explaining to you all how I had broken my ankle.

A lot has happened since then.  So much, that I won't be able to tell you all about it in this post, so I'll just tell you that 10 days before Vivian was born, I got that damn boot off my broken ankle.  My mom was still staying with us and helping out.  Once I got my boot off, though, we all literally sat around and waited for the baby to evacuate my belly.  It was obnoxiously annoying. I was already 2 days "overdue" when the boot came off, so waiting for the baby was a part of our daily routine.  And, with those stupid false labor pains, I was tired of feeling like a side show at the circus where everyone is waiting for the climax impatiently.

So, I decided to pretend that the baby was going to permanently be in my belly (didn't work) and focus on our last few days of being a family of four.  I slowly went on one mile walks.  I went to the grocery store and took the girls to their dance lessons. I tried to soak in the fact that my two girls would not just be just two for much longer...they'd soon be three!

 On February 22nd, I went in for my weekly monitoring of the baby. Ever since the breaking of the ankle, I was scheduled for antepartum monitoring.  They'd strap me up to machines to check my blood pressure, heart rate, contractions (if any), and the baby's heartbeat.  Then, I'd have to go and get an ultrasound to make sure everything was going well in the baby house.  I won't lie, I dreaded monitoring.  I would have to pack up me, Julia, and my mom.  We'd try desperately to get to the appointment on time and then sit there and stare at each other while I'd wait to hear what I already knew--the baby was doing excellent.  On the 22nd, when the nurses reminded me that I was 41 weeks and 2 days and that the hospital had a policy of inducing at 41 weeks and 5 days, I was having some pretty hard contractions.  I was technically scheduled for an induction that day at 6:00AM, but I'd skipped it because I really wanted to go naturally and was contracting as it was.  When they did the ultrasound, they were concerned with the low amniotic fluid. They wanted to admit me right away. I said no.  There was no way I was going to be admitted and not go home, get my things, explain to Julia what was going on, eat some lunch, and make sure my mom and the girls were set for when we were in the hospital.  I had to sign a waiver saying I was leaving the hospital against medical advice (which I did gladly).  Evan came home from his office and we got ourselves ready, said good-bye to Julia (Ebeth was at school) and headed to Jimmy Johns (as is "Virginia is having a baby" tradition).

I arrived at the hospital around 3:30, I had a fabulously wonderful idea of how I wanted this baby to be born, but I am a super crunchy/hippie/earth mother about birth and knew I would need to be flexible coming into a military hospital.  The staff found my disinterest in being induced or having any pain medicine amazing...or rather, amazingly weird.  I did say I would agree to the smallest dose of pitocin but refused any pain meds. By 6:30, my contractions were really intense.  When it came time to push, it all came about so very fast.  I actually don't remember all of the details. I know it was more pain than I remembered with the other two.  I know that I was being told that the baby's heart rate was dropping and that I was given oxygen through a mask (which, once it was given, I realized I really needed). I remember wanting to tell the staff to quit calling me "Mama" (I hate that). When I finally pushed her out, there was a great rush to get her over to the incubator.  Evan told me later that she came out purple/blue; that she wasn't breathing; that they had to suck out her nose, throat, and rub her to get her to take that first breath.  I do know that when I opened my eyes finally (I always push with my eyes closed and don't open them unless Evan reminds me or until the baby is born), there were about 12 people in my room.  Yes, the hospital is a teaching hospital, but a lot of that staff was there as a just in case something goes wrong.  Kind of scary.

Vivian did give out a first cry, which sounded like a cat whose tail was being stepped on.

.

She looks exactly like her sisters before her--lots of dark hair, perfect little lips.  Evan told me the same thing he told me when Julia was born when I finally pushed her out, "She looks just like Elisabeth; beautiful!"

Vivian joined our crew weighing in at 8lbs 3oz (my biggest baby!). She was born at 8:06PM (my only evening baby) and she seemed to decide she liked us right away. Evan drove to pick up the girls so they could meet their new sister and, of course, they loved her instantly.

My mom's reward for putting up with me for almost 2 months through a broken foot and a pregnancy that seemed to never want to end?  Being the first family member to meet Vivian.  Vivian was very excited to meet her Memaw.  :)

One of my favorite pictures of the girls:

Can I please tell you how excited I was to no longer be pregnant?  To actually be holding the baby who took her sweet time in joining our family?  Cause I was 41 weeks and 3 days when she was born. That's a long time to grow a baby.

And now, we're a family of five:

Vivian is now a month old and I just now am starting to feel like a human again.  Things are also starting to go back to normal again.  My mom flew back to Illinois on March 2nd and we slowly adapted back to our old routines (just with an extra person added to the mix).  I do spend most of my days sitting on the couch feeding a baby who seems to never tire of eating. But, one of the things that I've been itching to get back to was blogging. I've missed pouring out my thoughts to you people.  And now that I am no longer pregnant, my thoughts are more complete and coherent!

It's good to be back.  :)

Unwilling Couch Potato

You would think that with all the time I have been sitting here on my couch, I would have gotten around to blogging more, but for some reason, I just haven't been in a "bloggy" mood.  Sure, there's been a lot going around in these here parts, but every time I thought about sitting down and writing here, I just couldn't seem to find the words.  Any words.  I blame my pregnancy brain. 

Let's start with the reason why I have been spending so much time on the couch.  Two and half weeks ago, Evan and I were making dinner and I was chatting his ear off.  He'd started the grill (we were going to grill a pizza for the first time!) and was going out to check the fire and I followed him outside to continue with my chatter.  As I stepped down the one, single stair that leads out our back door, my foot slipped. Forgetting that I was 8 months pregnant and not at all centered, I tried to catch balance, but ended up falling sideways and felt my ankle snap. I thought that I screamed out in pain, but Evan said that I didn't scream at all, he just heard a crash and me crying.  I knew instantly it was broken.  I have never broken a bone in my body (except for a toe), but I knew that this was going to be a trip to the emergency room.

The thing about the fall is that it was all in slow motion for me; like those replays in football where they show the player's foot turn in a way no human foot should ever turn.  I have been having issues watching football with Evan the last couple of weeks if one of the guys on the field hurts his ankle in any way.

The good news of all of this is, I did not fall on my stomach in any way.  Never a cramp, never any pain. 

After I told Evan not to touch me (I am one of those people who hate to be talked to or touched when I'm hurt.  Yes, I realize it makes me sound like a jerk, but it has to all be on my terms.), I looked up and tried not to sob when I saw that my girls had run over to see if I was okay along with about 6 of the neighborhood kids.  They were all standing around me in a semi circle...staring. I told Evan we'd have to go the ER, but I wasn't really sure how I was going to stand up, let alone hobble my gigantic pregnant self down the (all of a sudden, super long) sidewalk to my car. The neighbor came out to see if I was ok and was kind enough to help me up. Evan drove the car up to the back door (over our lawn and sidewalk, which all the kids thought was awesome) and I limped to the front seat.  Thankfully, the neighbor offered to keep the girls and feed them while we went to the hospital.

I will not bore you with the details of how the x-ray technician freaked out that I was pregnant and covered me with 3 lead jackets but was by no means gentle with my very, very hurt ankle.  Nor will I go into the story about how, if you are over 20 weeks pregnant, you are shuttled straight up to Labor & Delivery from the ER for 4 hours of monitoring and that, once up there, other doctors (like orthopedics who are supposed to tell you how bad your break is) have a hard time finding you and telling you the results of the xrays.  

I will say that my break was a stable fracture and I did not need surgery.  I was given a walking boot that I will need to wear for at least 6 weeks. I was also prescribed (yes, prescribed) a walker to help me get around.  I am like an old, broken woman.  An old, broken, pregnant woman, that is.

On the way to the hospital, I did break down and cry.  Not so much for the pain I was in, but for the realization that I was not going to have the birth I had been planning in my head for this last pregnancy of ours.  I was not going to get to spend the last few weeks of my pregnancy organizing and getting our house ready for the new person coming to live with us.  To be honest, I have only recently stopped mourning the birth I had envisioned. I have (slowly) come to terms with the fact that I will be going into labor with a broken ankle and a boot on my foot. I was reassured by all the labor and delivery doctors and nurses that I was not the first lady to have a natural delivery with a broken foot/ankle/leg. 

Of course, I broke my right ankle, which means no driving for me until the boot comes off.  This is where I get to brag about how awesome my parents are. When I called them to tell them that I was in the hospital with a broken foot (well, Evan had to tell them because as soon as I heard my mom's voice I started crying like a baby because my mom is a fabulous caretaker and I super wanted her in the hospital with me), my dad went into protective mode.  My parents had already planned a trip to come and see us in February to help after the baby was born.  My parents asked if I wanted my mom to come and stay with us until my boot came off and I immediately said yes.  I fell on a Friday and my dad had changed my mom's plane ticket so that she was at our house by Sunday night.  Honestly, I am forever in debt to them because I do not know how we'd have functioned these last two weeks without her.  Being so pregnant has made this even more tricky because I can't bend at the waist, I have no sense of balance, and I have a lot of doctors appointments I have to go to because they want to continue to keep a close eye on the baby since I had such a fall. My mom has taken over laundry, chauffeuring, and a lot of the child care while I bitterly sit on the couch wishing I could stinking get up and get my own glass of water, but knowing that I can't. She's such a trooper, too, because for the first full week I had cellulitis and was in a terrible amount of pain.  I could barely hobble to the bathroom and cried a lot.

Now, I'm on the mend.  I was able to "walk" up the stairs last night and actually got to sleep in my own bed.  I'm feeling well enough that I'll be able to do it again tonight. I am taking bigger steps with the walker and am pretty confident that I won't need to use the walker around my house by this weekend.  We've gotten to see a lot of this baby with ultrasounds making sure my placenta is where it should be and it's kind of neat to see such a big baby in utero. Right now I am of three mind sets--1. I am at that point in the pregnancy where I am ready to be done and have this baby out but 2.I really need my foot to be better so I'd like the baby to it's time because the longer it waits the stronger my ankle will be but 3.dude, I'm ready to be done being pregnant and wearing a boot.

Food

Hello all!!!

Yes, it is the new year and I am back to feeling bloggy again.  It's been almost a full month since I have felt the need to write down my thoughts and today was a day that I really missed being here.

Of course, once I have downloaded the hundreds of pictures I have on my camera to the computer (being 34 weeks pregnant makes you not only forgetful, but tired as well, so my camera has also been neglected) I will show you all the fun we had over Christmas break.  Evan's parents came to visit along with Kyle and her boys. Their first time visiting us in our new home in Texas!!!

Recently, I told Evan that I wanted to get rid of all the sweenters in our house.  I've been slowly trying to get us to be more mindful of the food we eat and what we have in the house.  A year or so ago, I banned all HFCS and dyes from the house.  This meant saying good bye to some beloved cereals and snacks, but the dyes were really hurting Julia's stomach and I've just never been able to get over how HFCS is made.  So, my family begrudgingly agreed and, low and behold, it turns out that Evan started feeling better when dyes were taken out of his diet too.  Then, I started trying to buy foods that had ingredients we could read, pronounce, and recognize.  That's been harder since processed food is so easily attainable.  I also said I didn't want to use sweetner anymore in our coffee.  Turns out, that was one of the biggest changes we noticed.  Dude, sweenter is gross.

But, throughout all our changes, we've still been keeping cases of soda in the house.  I don't remember what I read or where I read it, but a couple of months ago I was inspired to wean us off of soda.  All soda.  I know that I was drinking about 2 a day and at my worst (when I was teaching) sometimes 4 a day.  Granted, it was Diet Coke, so there were no calories, but that is a lot of chemicals and crap that I was inhaling.  I've given up soda every now and then (for Lent or a diet or to try to build up my self control), but it's always creeped back into my diet.

Growing up, we never had soda in the house. My dad kept diet soda in a refrigerator in the garage, but we rarely drank any.  We'd get sodas sometimes at restaurants, but it was never a daily staple of our diets.  As I got older (probably around high school) I started drinking soda almost daily at school. By college, I was completely addicted to Diet Coke. Probably not an addiction my body has ever appreciated.

So, when I approached Evan about not buying soda anymore, he said no.  He only drank one or two sodas a day and didn't feel it was that big of a deal.  I told him that I would like to try to replace it with sparkling water (like La Crouix) and just see how it goes. Once again, he begrudgingly said he would test it out.  I bought a few flavors of the water and was surprised by how much cheaper buying a 12 pack of the water was compared to buying a 12 pack of any soda.  Maybe saving money would bring a positive spin to getting rid of soda.

Turns out, the water is good.  It took some getting used to since the water is not near as sweet as soda, but we've ended up really liking it.  And, Evan's noticed he doesn't feel as bloated and is feeling better not having soda daily.  I also found sodas with real ingredients at a local store, so we are using those as treats as soda should be.

Since we omitted diet soda from our house (which was around Thanksgiving time!), I haven't really missed it.  I've had 2 Diet Cokes, one consciously and one I ordered out of habit.  Otherwise, we've been drinking water (normal and sparkling), iced tea and orange juice.  Well, I've been drinking orange juice like it's my job, but that's just been the current craving.

Last night I started reading Animal, Vegetable, Miracle by Barbara Kingsolver (gifted to me last Christmas by my lovely friend, Melissa!) and it's the story of her family's journey to eat better.  Kingsolver's fabulous narrative voice tells you how they decided to grow more of their own foods on their small piece of land in the Appalachians and to buy more locally.  I am still in the beginning of the book, but am loving it so far.  I'm hoping to start buying locally here too, especially since we live in Texas and farmers' markets are open year round.

I'm excited!  I know that I am a lover of food and cooking, which does make me more interested in food in general, but I love the idea that I am setting up my kids with a sense of eating healthy.

I apparently love Santa.

I am almost done Christmas shopping. I have a few presents to buy, wrap and mail for my family in Illinois and a couple of Santa gifts and stocking stuffers to get the girls, but otherwise, I'm pretty much done. And, I would like to thank the internets for being such a fabulous place to purchase gifts.  I hate shopping and I have had to do very little of it in actual stores this year.  :)

 Oh, and I need to tell you my GENIUS idea this year.  Instead of dragging up the wrapping paper and box of bows, tape, gift tags, etc.every time I need to wrap something, I got smart.  I set up a wrapping station in my basement.  I put up the card table, set up all the wrapping essentials, and as presents are purchased or arrive in the mail to be wrapped, I just bring them straight downstairs and wrap presents while I'm downstairs doing laundry.  GENIUS! I tells ya!!!  I don't have to wait for the girls to go to bed or stare at the mess of wrapping things because I don't want to haul it up and down stairs all the time!  Best idea ever.

 I am reading a fabulous book called Franklin and Winston: An Intimate Portrait of an Epic Friendship by Jon Meacham. It's about the friendship of FDR and Churchill (duh) and it is well written and has my complete attention (which is hard to do when I am growing a human in my belly). I am sad that I won't be hitting my goal of reading 100 books this year.  I'm only at 68. But, like I said, when I'm pregnant, I just can not concentrate on books long.  I have started and put down numerous books that I just can't get into that I guarantee, once this baby has evacuated the premises, I will be able to try to read again and be fine.  It's so annoying how pregnancy just saps the brain cells from your head.

 This weekend, we are taking the girls to Sea World.  We have one in San Antonio, and the girls have been begging to go, but I did not want to pay good money to go when I'm pregnant and slow as molasses and need frequent breaks to sit and try to breath and whine about how slow and waddle-y I am.  But, I found a coupon for military members for a free day pass, so we printed it out and are taking the girls on Saturday. They don't know yet.  :)  For zero dollars, I don't mind being slow and waddle-y.  Plus, Julia is in love with The Polar Express (which, we have the movie but not the book...so unlike me!  So, she's getting the book for Christmas :) and they have a Polar Express 4-D show at Sea World we're going to go see.  She's going to be beyond excited. Then, once this baby is out and the weather is warm, we'll buy passes for next year.  They have a fabulous water park that everyone keeps ranting and raving about, so I definitely want to be able to take the girls this summer when we can.

 While looking around my holiday decorated home, I realize that I super like Santas. I have a lot of him.  Not just any Santas, mind you, but unique one.  This is my ultimate favorite Santa:

 He's the one on the upper left.  I bought him when we lived in DeKalb and I named him Fat Santa.  Every year, I make the girls come and ooh and ahh over how beautiful he is and make my annual speech about how they can not touch him because he is breakable and if he breaks I will cry like a baby.  Last year, I bought Elisabeth the Santa in the lower right corner.  He is a plastic Fat Santa that she can touch and put on the tree (because she loves my Fat Santa so much, she has asked for him when I die...which is not the first time she's tried calling dibs on things of mine after I croak).  She put him right next to my ornament, which I found cute.

Oh, and my lovely friend Kim bought me this cookie jar last year:

Omg, I love him.  He is still sold at Target and when we go, Julia says, "Oh, look, there's your Happy Santa!".

Well, I have deemed it a baking kind of day. I have a list of Christmas cookies that "need" to be made and I have totally been slacking on it this year.  I mean, it's December 7th and I just made my first batch last night! I know!  I am a slacker.

Colorado visitors.

The weather here lately has been to-die-for lovely.  Highs in the upper 60s and low 70s.  Some rain, but mostly sunny and awesome.  It's hard to remember we're in December because it's just not cold. We have needed jackets, and in the mornings when it's in the low 50s, Elisabeth does need a coat to walk to the bus stop, but otherwise it's just nice, fall weather. Plus, flowers are still blooming and thriving here!

 But, it is Christmas time, which is what we saw when our friends Kim and Chris came to visit us Thanksgiving week.  This is the tree in front of the Alamo:

 and true to Texas form, there are only ornaments of all things Texas--the state shape, the lone star, cowboy boots, etc. Not even one ornament on it that doesn't scream "WE ARE TEXANS!".

Elisabeth was so excited to have Kayleigh stay with us.  It was funny, because the minute Kayleigh walked in the door, those two went invisible.  They played and hung out and half the time we forgot they were even in the house.

 Since it was their first time visiting San Antonio (and Texas, for that matter), we had to take them to see The Alamo.

 Because it was not almost 100 degrees, we explored more of the gardens around The Alamo, which was gorgeous.  Evan, the girls, and I got to see things we hadn't on our first trip.

 Someone tell me what this plant/tree/fruit is:

 Cause i have no idea!!

We also walked to a little shopping district called La Villita National Historic District.  Honestly, it wasn't much to look at.  Yes, there were some small, weird shops, but nothing where I feel like we need to go and visit again.  We did happen to find an old church in the district though.  I insisted on going in to take pictures.

Called "The Little Church", it was built in 1879.

Then we walked down The Riverwalk back to our car.  The Riverwalk is something that everyone who has ever visited San Antonio has told us "you have to go to The Riverwalk!", but, honestly, we don't see what the big deal is. We've walked down the part where there's restaurants and where it leads to the mall, but...it kind of sucks.  I'm not going to go visit a million restaurants in one day and I'm certainly not going to go to the mall all the time (omg, I hate malls).  But, when Kim and Chris were here, we found a different part of The Riverwalk we hadn't seen and I liked it much, much more.  No restaurants and swarms of tourists.  No mall and stupid shops.  It was quiet and very pretty.

These are tree roots!  How creepy/cool are they?:

I told Evan maybe we should walk more of The Riverwalk (past all the commercial parts) and we might find what all the hype is about, because that small part we walked was pleasant.

Kim and Chris were here for Thanksgiving.  Since we'd already had a traditional Thanksgiving when my parents came to visit, we all decided to just have a Chinese take-out feast.  We had a big order.

It was awesome.  It was relaxed and yummy and the clean up was super simple.  I would not be opposed to more Thanksgivings like that one.

Don't worry, I totally still made a pie...a pumpkin pecan pie.  It was yummy.

All too soon, Kim, Chris and Kayleigh had to go back to Colorado.  The girls were sad, but we've already made plans for more visits (including us going to visit them in Colorado in June!).

I love haivng friends that are family.

Solitude.

Saturday morning, I woke up feeling grumpy.  Never mind that it was my sleep in day and I slept until 9:30.  Never mind that Evan and the girls were in a fabulous mood.  I was a big, fat, pregnant crab.  I wanted to wake up in a small apartment that only housed me, where I didn't have to talk or interact in anyway with anyone.

Ever have those days?

 Thankfully, my family did not take it personally.  They gave me some space and went about their (annoyingly) jolly ways. It really wasn't personal, but some days I just long for solitude.  I long to be in my own little bubble where I have no one depending on me, monopolizing my time, expecting anything from me. On those days, I would stay in bed as long as I liked.  I'd wander into the kitchen and make 2 eggs over medium with an english muffin lathered in butter.  I would curl up on the couch, cover myself in blankets and lose myself in a book.  I'd have a hot cup of never ending coffee at my disposal, followed by endless glasses of Evan's sweet tea when I was done drinking coffee.  I'd probably watching mindless tv while crocheting beautiful scarves and afghans. I'd take a nap and start all over again, never having had to talk to anyone in real life or on the phone. I'd take a walk (cause my pregnant body would not be tired or swollen) and then go to bed early.  That is my ideal isolation day.. Saturday was one of those days.

 But, for every one of those isolation days I long for, I am given a day filled with silliness and giggles; questions and bickering; random hugs and a few stolen kisses; exasperation at ears that won't listen and a feeling of overflowing love at a glance of two sisters getting along in a loving manner; small kicks and pushes from the newest of our babies growing in my belly.

As I was reminded quite recently (after complaining about a certain 3 year old who must have tabs on my whereabouts at all times) by someone who used to have a little boy who was most demanding in the attention department, I will miss all this someday.  I will soon have teenagers instead of small children.  And even those teenagers won't be sticking around long before I will have grown up children.  I hear that happens much faster than I can imagine.

So, I shall take these days of overwhelming madness and try to appreciate them (though I know full well, I probably won't the majority of the time). I will try to minimize my need to hermit away because some day I will have plenty of hermit days...and I will probably long for small giggles and little hands that instinctively reach for mine.